


eight

by elytraheart



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Manipulation, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29268756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elytraheart/pseuds/elytraheart
Summary: The only reason Dream is even alive right now is because he knows how to resurrect Wilbur. If Tommy had it his way, the green bitch would be dead.Unfortunately, there's no such thing as true resurrection. There always has to be a trade.(Set in the Dream SMP lore just after Dream goes to prison, turns to a bit of an AU as some details are changed)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 10
Kudos: 375
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	eight

**Author's Note:**

> hey, everyone!
> 
> this is my first time posting on ao3, though i have written fanfiction before. i post very small minifics and whatnot on my twitter @elytraheart, so follow me there!
> 
> it's inspired by something wilbur said on his most recent stream, that his character while he was alive was inspired by the song 8 by sleeping at last. so, this fic contains some of those lyrics!
> 
> feedback and constructive criticism is v v much appreciated but please no flat-out hate, it's not productive and just leaves both of us worse off
> 
> hope you enjoy!

“Tommy, are we the bad guys?”

_I remember the minute_

_It was like a switch was flipped_

Why had he done that? Why had he said that? Tommy lay awake every single fucking night with bloodshot eyes trying to put it together, trying to pinpoint where it all went wrong. Everything had seemed…. fine. Until Wilbur just had to go and ruin everything.

Was he, Tommy, one of the bad guys now? Technically he'd been an enabler, an accomplice even. But it's not like he knew. It's not like he wanted to watch the nation he had built, the nation that from the start had represented his final change at redemption, get blown to bits by the man he had called a brother.

_I was just a kid who grew up strong enough_

_To pick this armor up_

_And suddenly it fit_

The first few weeks after it happened, Tommy cried himself to sleep every night. And he hated himself for it, he felt weak for it, but he just couldn't fucking stop. He had been so stupid, so naïve, so enthralled by the spark of revolution that he hadn't noticed the fire Wilbur was stoking behind his back. If he had just realised, if he had just paid more attention, if he hadn't been so weak, maybe he could've changed things, saved everyone.

He didn't cry himself to sleep anymore. He just kind of lay there with a dull ache in his chest, listening to the silence that Wilbur had left behind. No more festivals, no more petty arguments, no more revolution. He had never really noticed before how much Wilbur brightened the world around him, until that light was gone.

_God, that was so long ago, long ago, long ago_

_I was little, I was weak and perfectly naive_

_And I grew up too quick_

Tubbo had been his lifeline, during those days. Tommy had always joked that he would never ever show any kind of physical affection towards Tubbo, and if Tubbo ever tried he would dropkick him; the first time they even hugged was over the ruins of L’manberg. That was also the first time either of them let the other see them cry.

And now Tubbo was president of a crater. He was doing a good job, Tommy thought without ever saying it aloud, patching up the damage and building up even more beautiful tourist spots and houses than there had been before. If the old L’manberg didn't have so much of his sentiment attached to it, Tommy would even go as far as to say the new version was better.

How had they grown up so fast? Why… why did they deserve to? Tommy had never been very religious, but the more pain and heartbreak and betrayal and loneliness the world threw his way, the more he was sure there couldn't possibly be a God up there. And if there was a God, he was no saviour. Maybe that's what Wilbur had believed too. Maybe that's what drove him mad. Tommy certainly felt like he was going mad.

_Now you won't see all that I have to lose_

_And all I've lost in the fight to protect it_

Fast forward now to the day that Dream is finally imprisoned. The big bad villain, the real bad guy, the kind of man Wilbur had feared he was turning into—that was Dream. And now they'd defeated him, they should be safe. Everything should be fine. Instead?

“You're not dead.”

Ironic that the one to speak those words would be the one man who was supposed to be dead. Tommy jumped when he first heard the voice, hairs on the back of his neck sticking up and goosebumps running down his arms. He edged closer to Tubbo without even really noticing he was doing it, just looking for something, anything, to remind him that he wasn't alone, that he was safe.

_I won't let you in, I swore never again_

_I can't afford, no, I refuse to be rejected_

“I'm frankly impressed.”

He tried to speak boldly, but his voice came out in a squeak. “Ghostbur?” He was acting stupid, stalling, trying to buy just enough time to get away. As if he could get away from his own head. But he knew it wasn't Ghostbur, because Ghostbur didn't sound like that. Nobody on the SMP did. Nobody other than… Wilbur.

The voice (as he decided to call it, refusing to connect it in any meaningful way to his once-brother) laughed, but there wasn't much humour in it. Tommy felt awfully like a little kid who'd just been sent to the scary principal's office. “No,” he (it) said. “I'm not Ghostbur.”

_I want to break these bones 'til they're better_

_I want to break them right and feel alive_

Tommy said nothing. It was like some god's hand had reached down into his throat and torn out his vocal cords, and then laughed in his face about it. He fumbled for Tubbo's hand, a rare gesture that Tubbo immediately gave into. They exchanged no words, no expressions; all they needed was to know that somebody was there and on their side.

“Did you— did you miss me?” The voice sounded more unsure now, perhaps put off by the lack of response. But there was still a smirk in its time, a fucking insufferable smirk that Tommy would give anything to p—

“I did.” The words were forced out of him before he had even realised what was going on. Tubbo's jaw dropped; he thought he even heard the voice hitch a breath. Shit. “I missed you every day for two fucking months, Wilbur. I lay awake every night thinking about what I'd change if I could go back and do it all again. And every time, every single time, I came up with new ways to save you. To stop you.”

_You were wrong, you were wrong, you were wrong_

_My healing needed more than time_

The voice didn't speak anymore. For one blissful (but, for some reason, scary) moment, Tommy wondered if maybe he had scared it off for good.

“Why would you want to stop me?” It sounded so vulnerable, like the Wilbur he had originally met way back when L’manberg was nothing more than a thought that had passed by and been lost. It sounded like his older brother. And fuck, he wanted his brother back so, so bad.

“Because I knew people would hate you for it,” Tommy said carefully. Tubbo held his hand a little tighter, the only form of encouragement he knew how to show. “But I would never. I could never hate you, Wilbur, never ever, even if you somehow hurt everybody I loved and left me there to rot in it. Even if you… hurt Tubbo.”

Tubbo flinched at the sudden mention of his name. Tommy could see his eyes darting as he processed what Tommy was trying to say, and then as he flinched again. Even if you hurt Tubbo, I would let you. I would be okay with it. “That's not what I meant,” Tommy wanted to scream at him. “I meant that you're the one person I love the most, the one thing I care about. The most powerful example I could've given.” But instead he said nothing.

_When I see fragile things, helpless things, broken things_

_I see the familiar_

“Do they hate me for it?” said the voice, softly now. It struck Tommy that maybe he wasn't the only one who had been forced to grow up too fast. “Do they ever… talk about me? You know, I had all these plans for my funeral. What flowers I'd want, what music, what guests. But I don't think— I must've missed it, I suppose I slept through it or something. Was it nice? Did they cry? Or was it more of a… celebration?”

Tommy felt his stomach drop like a stone. The first thought that came to mind was to lie, to detail the most grand occasion he could think of with everybody crying into their lace handkerchiefs. But he never could lie to Wilbur. “There was no funeral. We just kinda… dumped your body somewhere. Me and Techno did.”

“Techno?” The voice came in quick and sharp and sudden. He hadn't been this excited to see Tommy, Tommy thought dully. He always did seem to like Techno more. “Techno helped?”

“Well, nobody else would.” Tommy could've kicked himself for saying that. He had been seized with the jealous urge to knock Wilbur down a few pegs, and he was already regretting it. “Wilbur, I… you're not coming back to life, are you? Because there's this book…”

“Do you want me to come back to life?”

Tommy hesitated. “I… well, y'know… I wouldn't— I wouldn't mind if you did.”

There was a long silence. Tommy could feel Tubbo's hand sweating, but he didn't let go. He was sure his was sweating too, based on the lump he could feel in his throat and the tightness in his chest.

“Then I'll come back.”

_I was little, I was weak, I was perfect, too_

_Now I'm a broken mirror_

Days later. Maybe a week? Time doesn't really seem to follow a pattern anymore. 

Tommy stares into the cold, unmoving gaze of Dream's smiley mask. It was supposed to look friendly, a sort of childish trademark to make him seem relatable and nice, but right now it has never seemed more sinister. 

“And who says I have to help you?” said Dream coolly, pulling his hood further down over his forehead to ensure no hair showed. Tommy had seen a few stray tufts of hair on his forehead before, but maybe he wasn't trusted with that kind of information anymore. Such things were valuable these days.

“If you don't, we'll kill you,” he responded, short and sweet, hating the way the mask just stared, like he was some kind of circus attraction. He wondered if there were any emotions behind it at all. “That book—” he jabbed a finger in its general direction—“is the only reason you're alive. Don't forget that.”

When Dream spoke, the edge to his voice betrayed that he was smiling. “What if I would be willing to die, if it meant you had to suffer? You never get to see Wilbur again, and Schlatt and I have him all to ourselves. We could say whatever we wanted, and you couldn't stop us. We could poison him.”

Tommy stopped.

“You wouldn't do that, Dream, I know you wouldn't.”

“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” Dream drawled. He gave a small laugh, but it was more for show than anything else. “I don't care about myself, Tommy, I don't value my own life. I could die right here, right now, and I'd only care that I didn't get to play with you more before I did. Everything I do, everything I've ever done, has been to hurt you.”

Tommy's hand felt so terribly empty without Tubbo to squeeze it and nudge up closer to him, trying to remind him that everything was okay, without Wilbur at his side to tower over him like his own personal bodyguard. “So I could kill you right now.”

“And you'd never get to see Wilbur again, yes.”

“But I don't want that to happen.”

Dream pulled his mask slightly upwards to flash a grin. “I knew you wouldn't. So, I have a proposition for you.” And down again, chin now set and tone now serious. “Do you agree to take it?”

“Tell me what it is first.”

“Tommy.”

Tommy hesitated. “I— okay, yeah. I'll do anything if it means getting Wilbur back. But you can't go back on your word either, you have to revive him and give him back to us and not do anything weird or bad, like you promised. ’Cause if you do, we'll kill you.”

“Sure," said Dream with a shrug, already knowing he'd won this battle. “So, the proposition! First of all, Tommy, I need you to understand that there's no such thing as a revival or a resurrection. Sure, you can bring Wilbur back and he'll be perfectly normal and everything will be fine—but there has to be an exchange, something, or more precisely someone, to replace Wilbur in the afterlife.”

“What— what do you mean?” 

And then the bombshell dropped. “I want you to give me Tubbo.”

_I can't let you in, I swore never again_

_I can't afford to let myself be blindsided_

Tommy flew at him, eyes ablaze and knuckles turning white. “What the fuck do you mean, you want me to give you Tubbo? I'm not fucking giving you Tubbo, you stupid green bitch, you never fucking told us that was the part of the resurrection process. No, no, I don't accept, of course I fucking don't, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dream just stood there, his mask as blank and uncaring as ever, and took the punches until Tommy tired himself out. He didn't seem fazed at all even though his cheeks were starting to turn purple and blood trickled down the side of his mouth. He made no sound, no movements, no kind of indication at all that he had been hurt. All Tommy wanted was to make him hurt.

The silence drew on for an uncomfortably long time before Dream finally spoke. “Nothing is free, Tommy. If you don't trade Tubbo, you can't get Wilbur. Make up your mind. I'm sure neither of them would be very happy if they found out you gave them up for the other, now would they?”

Tommy swallowed. He didn't see anything, but he was sure Dream would know what was thinking. No, they wouldn't. It was like trying to choose a favourite parent. Not only was it difficult, but it just felt wrong. “I won't do it. You can't make me.”

“Too bad. I'm sure Wilbur will miss you. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. I'll be in this cell for… a long time.” 

_I'm standing guard, I'm falling apart_

_And all I want is to trust you_

So here he was again. Lying awake at night. The Wilbur voice was gone. Tubbo's hand was gone. It was just him and bloodshot eyes and the ceiling fan. Wilbur or Tubbo. Wilbur or Tubbo. Wilbur or Tubbo.

Logically, the right answer should be Tubbo. Tubbo was his best friend, Tubbo hadn't blown up his nation, Tubbo was already here and alive and fine, whereas Wilbur was just a scary voice who may not even notice if Tommy chose Tubbo over him because he was already dead.

But Tubbo betrayed him. He exiled him. He was the reason Tommy and Dream had been left alone together for so long, the reason Dream was able to get such a hold over Tommy. Wilbur hadn't been much, but he'd always been loyal, he'd hurt the entire city but never Tommy. And he was his brother.

He thought about calling Tubbo, asking for help. But Tubbo would just say to choose Wilbur, of course he would, the selfless asshole. And he'd wonder why it was so difficult for Tommy to choose between a dead man who had destroyed everything he loved and his best friend who was right there next to him. He'd start to blame himself.

_Show me how to lay my sword down_

_For long enough to let you through_

This wasn't fair. Dream said that he would revive Wilbur, he said he could bring him back with no consequences or accidents or repercussions. He promised. And how had Schlatt even known all this anyways?

He wanted to call Phil, to ask for his help. Phil would know what to do. But Phil wasn't his dad anymore, Phil didn't love him anymore, Phil had always chosen Techno over him since birth and now he, Tommy, the one who hadn't blown up a nation or hurt innocent people on purpose, was the one without a dad, without anyone.

Techno. Fuck, that hurt. Techno, his brother, his friend, the man who'd found him under the floorboards and laughed and took him under his wing and lived with him for the next months and gave him his most prized possession and called him worthy and ran into a crowd of twenty people with crossbows for him and had always, always protected him. Techno was with Dream now.

Tubbo was all he had. He couldn't give him up.

But _Wilbur_.


End file.
